Anywhen
by Adreus
Summary: The boy is five years old and he isn't named Tiger Festival, but he does have Asbel's eyes and hair and mischief, and there's delight on his face and laughter in the air as he and Sophie chase each other around the playground. —AsbelCheria.


**Notes: **There's this obscure little writing challenge on LJ called "con10porary"; the goal is to take your work, and place it in a modern setting. y fandom of choice was _Tales of Graces_, as the archive's so small as it is. Here's to 'Anywhen' - the first of, hopefully, ten.

_Tales of Graces _is property of Namco-Bandai, I do not claim any rights.

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_02 — Childish_

_Anywhen_

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The boy is five years old and he isn't named Tiger Festival, but he does have Asbel's eyes and hair and mischief, and there's delight on his face and laughter in the air as he and Sophie chase each other around the playground. His face is flushed red from the running and the heat and he's got grass burns on the knees of his jeans, multicolored stains of browns and greens from when he tripped while they were playing tag, but he doesn't let that stop him as the afternoon sun begins to sink and Cheria starts to pick up the remnants of the picnic supplies scattered around her.

It's when she's piling the things back into the basket when Asbel appears, his arms weighed down by the force of the plastic grocery bags he's laden with, filled with ice cold drinks and some ice cream that he's managed to find from the nearby gas station, because they couldn't have brought it from home for fear of it melting—and anyway, they didn't know that it would be on the list of demands brought forward by their boy. He's sweating because of how far he's run, but he smiles at the sight of her like he's just seen her for the first time after a few years, and he tries to wave from a distance but forgets about what he's carrying, so he nearly ends up tripping. Cheria tries to suppress her laughter and shakes her head as Asbel sheepishly approaches and avoids her eyes and says, "I, um, brought the ice cream."

He looks about seventeen. Hair all over the place, stupid grin, that tiny thing in his voice that's almost a question, because he's never certain of himself around her. She faintly recognizes the squeaking of their boy as he notices his father's return, as he and Sophie scamper up to the plastic bag and take their chocolate bounty, but she doesn't turn, her eyes fixed on Asbel and the warmth in his cheeks. Even now; even as the laughter of their union dances around them and her heart beats for two once more, his cheeks tint bashful red.

She shakes herself as he asks if she'd liked to be helped up, and she doesn't decline, so he takes her hand and brings her to her feet. Asbel takes up the task of tidying; Cheria watches as he hastily stuffs the picnic supplies into the basket and messily folds up the blanket, and once he's done he calls to Sophie and tells her it's time to go.

"But _Daaaad_," comes the tell-tale whine, a sound that rings familiarly, because it must've been yesterday that the one being spoken at today was the speaker, "Sophie said she'd push me on the swing!" The boy pouts, brings his grubby hands on his hips, and he looks at his mother with his messy, chocolate-and-dirt covered face, pleadingly. "Tell him, Mom!"

Cheria sighs even with her smile, nods at Asbel. "The sun's still up," she tells her husband, shrugging, and it's true, the sky's being painted purples and reds but it's still daytime and they've got time to spare. "And Sophie _did _promise. Come on, we can wait on the bench." And she leads the way to the seat under the old oak, her hand in his. Asbel doesn't argue; he picks up the picnic supplies and is led to the bench, and they sit themselves down and there's a moment where he gulps and he looks at her stomach, sees it protruding and wonders at what's inside there. Cheria finds an arm around her shoulders and another at her side as he leans in to listen with almost childlike wonder.

"Asbel," she speaks gently, and he looks up questioningly but she shakes her head, doesn't know what she was going to say.

It's the creak of the swing set that catches their attention; it's the same old place from that bright blue afternoon save for the chains speckled with crimson rust in place of sparkling new silver, and Cheria can see in the back of her vision a bright blue day when the world had been taller, seemed so much smaller, can envision herself making the confident leap off the swing, can feel her hands pulling back on the chains and herself jumping, flying, soaring—

—landing on the ground and registering only pain, the feeling of her foot being unable to move and the intense realization that she couldn't walk. She remembers Asbel and Hubert and their rolling their eyes, remembers the mutters—_Asbel, you'll have to carry her_—remembers being hoisted onto his back and being carried back to the picnic with Asbel's parents and her grandfather, while complaining that she could walk, she really could, why did _he _have to carry her, she—

"Cheria?" Asbel's words bring her out of her thoughts, and he looks concerned. "Your pulse sped up all of a sudden, you okay?"

She shakes her head. "I'm alright, Asbel. Was just… thinking."

"'Bout what?" he asks curiously, eyes trailed on Sophie and the swing.

"This playground is as old as we are," she says.

He thinks for a moment, doesn't seem to believe it, but just as his brow furrows, his blue eyes widen. "You're right!" he exclaims, "We used to swing on the same seat our kid is on now!" The sudden realization seems to take root in his mind, like it's working full speed and flying through years of memories to locate the ones specific to where they are now. She doesn't need to search, because she's already summoned the instances, is already looking up at the trunk of the tree they're sitting under, where a promise is etched in the bark for eternity. They feel the stare on their backs before she speaks, but they know that Sophie's watching, too.

"This is the park where Asbel found me," the girl says, and the boy's followed her, is frowning up at the names that he can't read or reach. Asbel stands and hoists his child up, lets him touch the old worn wood and whispers something that Cheria can't hear, but she assumes she's right when she thinks it's about old friendships and promises that she wasn't a part of, and she's not envious about it because she's got things that are just as good. The boy's eyes widen and his features soften, like he's trying to imagine his father the same height as he is, trying to imagine the same world from before he was born.

"Whoa," he says, and Asbel laughs, confirming quietly, "Whoa."

Sophie's the one who spies Cheria when she stands, notices when she's looking at the swing, asks her if she wants to go for a ride. The sudden sharpness in her body ensures Cheria of the certainty that the time is nearing for her to deliver, but her physician said nothing of her being disallowed from swings, even recommended it once when she'd mentioned that her son and husband were begging to go. Her smile is ever soft and enthusiastic when she nods, "Yes!", and Sophie offers her a hand and Cheria stands, unnoticed by Asbel and his son, who're too preoccupied with Asbel's stories about childhood adventures.

Sophie pushes her, and it's not high enough by Cheria's standards, but she supposes Sophie's being gentle for fear, or perhaps she's being gentle because she's not really paying attention, staring out at the tree and at Asbel and the little figure in his arms. Cheria turns her attention to them, too, and as she does they seem to notice, both comically turning to look at the ladies at the same time. The boy instantly begins to squirm and wrestle and Asbel all but drops him to the ground, where the boy pouts indignantly, "Hey! Sophie was supposed to push _me_!" And he's immediately running on his short legs for jealousy, Asbel following after him.

"Mom!" he shouts when he's near her, "Not fair at _all_," and he plants himself in the seat next to her and demands that Sophie swing him, too. Cheria laughs and tells Sophie it's okay and she can fulfill her promise—to Cheria's, surprise, Asbel takes over her own, swings her farther than Sophie did but holds the chains tighter all the same.

"You used to make fun of me for this," Asbel speaks, like he's been thinking about their earlier adventures since she initially brought them up.

"About what?"

"About swinging," he answers, and he's louder now, but despite the laughter in his voice at the naiveté of his younger self, it's evident that he still has traces of embarrassment from his childhood. "You always used to laugh at me because I couldn't swing myself, and even Hubert could do that."

Cheria snorts. "So you made Hubert push you and said it was because it's faster that way." She tilts her head back, looks up at him. "But you learned how, eventually."

He grins, admits, "I spent days getting Hubert to teach me when you got hurt from jumping off it once." She rolls her eyes, and yeah, she can imagine him slave-driving his brother like that, because back then Asbel had to be the best at everything, would never let Cheria or Hubert say that they were better, even though Cheria always pointed out that it didn't and shouldn't matter. "I'm the older brother," Asbel would always say, right after confirming their being Lhant's Triplets of Terror, and Cheria would cross her arms and huff and Hubert would look on at their arguing.

Cheria brings her hands to steady the swing and squeezes her eyes shut at the onset of more pain, and Asbel's concerned and on his knees in front of her again, but she shakes her head, she's totally fine. Asbel doesn't seem to think so, and when Cheria simply points out that it's getting late and they should head home, Asbel asks, "Do you want me to carry you?"

"_No_," she says, and for a moment she's small and tiny and stubborn again, because she can walk fine and Asbel's always doing that, trying to do everything so that no one else will have to do anything, "I'm _fine_, Asbel, I'm pregnant, not injured." She sees the hurt on his face after that, though he does back off, so she apologizes and accepts his side to lean on, despite not needing it. Sophie picks up their son despite his complaints and carries him over her head, runs to the car while Asbel and Cheria follow slowly behind, mostly in silence as they each contemplate the other.

"This is weird," Asbel says, suddenly stopping in his tracks, and he's gazing forlornly at a patch of yellowed grass.

"Hm?"

Asbel look at his hands, struggles to explain his thoughts without speaking, makes vague motions and points to Sophie and their son, points to Cheria and himself, stares at the ring on his finger. "_This _is weird. We're all older and Hubert's going to try and confess to Pascal again tomorrow, and Richard's on a plane across the country as we speak. And we have a kid made of our flesh and our blood and there's another one on the way, and I'm nervous as hell. But what's weird is that I feel like through everything we've been through, I haven't changed at all."

Cheria disagrees. She's seen Asbel go from an immature little rascal to a man with a strong sense of justice and friendship, she's seen him fit so naturally into his statuses of a husband and a father it's as though he's always been programmed for them, but he's still changed, he's still grown, and there are things he does every day that prove to her that he's still growing as a person and a parent and a best friend. She takes his hand, squeezes it, and tilts his head so that he's looking at her.

"You _have _changed," she reassures him. "Look at you. You said it yourself. You're a father and the best brother Hubert could ever have wished for and you're Sophie's favorite person in the entire world. You take care of everyone, Asbel." She winces at another contraction, chuckles right after when Asbel starts to panic. "Even those who don't need to be taken care of. Stop worrying about everything, okay?" And her whisper, as the loud complaints of their charges yards ahead of them begin to sound: "I love you."

"I love you, too," he says, and then, "Yeah, I guess you're right…" Then he feels better, is smiling again, and is Cheria seeing things, or are his brightened eyes welling up with the cluster of conflicting emotions that he's trying to hide?

She laughs louder than she has in a while—it's the same joy, the same spirit of never-ending youth he's always had. It's what makes him Asbel.

"Now _there's_ one thing that I hope doesn't change," she speaks, and as dusk settles around them, she's on the tips of her toes and kissing him.


End file.
